


Honor Among...

by chofi



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Actually beta-read, Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M, Mercverse, let's bring back a shared AU with beats from Remake, somewhat stealth sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 18:53:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25540141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chofi/pseuds/chofi
Summary: A simple, no-fuss investigation welcomes Zack and Cloud Strife back to Midgar after their time away. A simple, no-fuss investigation into the Angel of the Slums. Icedark Elf's Mercverse AU with Remake sensibilities.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7
Collections: FF7 Fanworks Exchange '20





	1. In Which There Is a Reunion of Friends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jukeboxhound](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jukeboxhound/gifts).



> This fic is set in the Mercverse AU ([@livejournal](http://mercverse.livejournal.com), [@insanejournal](http://asylums.insanejournal.com/mercverse/)), a shared universe that was created by [Katrina](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Katrina/profile)/[icedark_elf](http://icedark-elf.insanejournal.com/). Here's her summary:
>
>> The Mercverse is a FF7 AU world spawned by various pics people sent me or I found roaming the mass of sites I can't understand. They were full of shinies. Some of the pics are [here](http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v308/sinfulgreed/Mercs/). If you know of others, send them my way and I'll be more than willing to go "ooh, shiny" and probably write more fic.
>> 
>> The universe is completely open. The only canon is the following: Cloud is immortal, Sephiroth is a mage adept, Zack is more than human, and Vincent and Chaos are half-demon twin brothers. Other than that...have at thee. Want to bring in other fandoms, ignore everything else besides what I just said was canon, or anything else? Feel free to do so.
> 
> There are also a lot of inside jokes/shared canon along with the above, most of which were created by [Elizabeth Culmer/Edenfalling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/edenfalling/pseuds/Elizabeth%20Culmer). This story can be seen as something of a sequel to her story ["Two Guys and a Girl"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/961855/chapters/1885139), which deals with Cloud, Zack, and Tifa's time in Nibelheim. This story takes place about two or three years after the events in "Two Guys and a Girl". 

Tifa wrenched the old water filter out of the tank, fighting the urge to gag from the rotten-egg smell. She slid the new filter into place and made sure it held. (The first time, she hadn’t checked and it had cost Marle two free replacements to make up for the damages.) That was the last one for the morning, and she had more than enough time to get down to the station before the next train.

She settled accounts with Tabby, slid on her gloves, and headed for the station.

The train was just pulling in when she made it to the platform. A warm cluster of butterflies refused to leave her stomach, no matter what breathing techniques she used. The doors slid open and passengers began pouring out. Tifa began to scan faces; the warm flutter in her stomach grew. There had been letters and phone calls and e-mails and text messages, sure, but seeing someone face-to-face, live-and-in-person...

A cry of “Mini Zangan!” and Tifa was swept up into a crushing hug that she returned just as strong. Zack Strife, taller and broader-shouldered than she remembered, pulled away and grinned—his smile had stayed the same. “Welcome to Midgar, I guess?”

Tifa had gotten a long, sealed letter with an offer of a place to stay courtesy of Cloud when she had finally left Nibelheim for Midgar. She’d refused the place to stay—the Strifes had already done too much for her, in her opinion—but had accepted the rest of the letter: advice and well-wishes from Zack and Cloud. She felt confident enough to take what she wanted and stand on her own. First rule of life on the ground floor: the only one who’ll look out for you is you.

“Welcome back to Midgar, then,” Tifa answered. They’d set this up about an hour after Zack and Cloud had returned to their apartment, less than a week ago. It had cut into her sleep, texting back and forth with Zack into the night, but how couldn’t she? After so long apart, her friends were here, with her.

Tifa made a quick scan of the platform. The butterflies in her stomach had to be the size of chocobos by now. “And Cloud?”

“Busy.” A been-there-done-that roll of Zack’s eyes. “People who want to hire him started beating down the door our first morning back.”

Tifa felt her stomach sink. There’d be other times to see Cloud, of course, but… “Did Cloud ever tell you what it is he did, exactly?”

Zack was making a slow circle of the platform, taking everything in. (Not that there was much of anything to take in.) “Yeah. I’ve… actually started helping him out, a bit.” He stopped and faced Tifa again. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

Tifa crossed her arms and lowered her voice. “A little bit of everything.” Zack snorted. Tifa cleared her throat and began speaking and standing as usual again. “Been down in Lower Seven before?”

Zack stilled, then closed his eyes for a few breaths. There was a slight shake of his head. “If it was when I was a kid, I don’t remember.”

Tifa grabbed Zack’s arm and dragged him down the platform and towards the center of Lower Seven. “I’ll give you the tour, then.”

* * *

Tifa made their first stop her home, but there wasn’t any need to rush. Good thing, too, because along the way, Zack kept on looking around and began ducking into stores. (“What are you even looking for?” “I’ll know it when I see it.”)

Eventually, they made it up the hill and stopped in front of a two-story apartment house. Tifa swept her arm towards the building. “Here’s home, Stargazer Heights. I’m up on the second floor.” She smiled and headed for the stairs. “Not very big, but it’s a place of my own.”

Zack let out a low whistle, then began to follow her. “You _sure_ you don’t want to take Cloud up on--”

“Tifa, dear girl!” Tifa hadn’t even noticed Marle coming out of her apartment door. Tifa stopped at the foot of the stairs and turned to face Marle, who looked right at Zack and narrowed her eyes. “Who’s your young man?”

“Marle, this is Zack Strife.” Tifa didn’t miss the way that Marle’s eyebrow arched at “Strife”. “Zack, this is my landlady, Marle.”

Zack aimed one of his smiles at Marle. “A pleasure, ma’am.”

“Not very often we get a visitor from on high,” Marle said dryly.

Tifa put her hands on her hips. “Zack isn’t like that, Marle.”

Marle sniffed. “That remains to be seen. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my best girl is coming over and my home still looks a sight.” She ducked back into her apartment and closed the door.

Zack jerked his head back towards Marle’s door. “She always like that?”

“Marle’s nice. Really. She’s helping me get settled, finding me jobs.” Tifa shrugged. “She knows practically everyone here. I’m making connections, you know?” Second rule of life on the ground floor: a few hands are better than one.

Tifa went up the stairs and waited for Zack to follow her. She passed the door to her apartment and headed for the ladder up to the roof.

Tifa liked the roof for the view. It wasn’t like being in the mountains, not at all, but she could sit high above and watch the rest of the world go by. She neared the edge of the roof and sat down on cross-legged. Most of Lower Seven spread out below them. She looked up at Zack. “So, what is it that you’re doing to help out Cloud?”

Zack sat down at Tifa’s side, dangling his legs off of the edge of the roof. “Well, Cloud took a job to look for someone.”

“A disappearance?” She tried to recall news of any kids of rich business people or courtiers that had gone missing.

“An investigation. Into the Angel of the Slums.”

Tifa’s stomach dropped. (Like that day in the mountains, when the rope snapped, the bridge gave way, and…) She tried to keep her voice steady. “What do you want with the Angel?” Third rule of life on the ground floor: those on high only care when they want something. Tifa knew better than anybody that Zack and Cloud weren’t like the rest of them, but...

“It’s an investigation,” Zack said again. He frowned. “Do you know something?”

Tifa chewed on her lip to buy a little more time. Her hands pressed down into the solidness of the rooftop. “I know what everyone else knows: she steals from the rich to give to the poor. Who’d she steal from, anyhow?”

Zack shook his head. “Never heard of them, but according to Cloud, they’re assholes.” Which was, Tifa knew, typical of who the Angel targeted.

Tifa clenched her hands into fists, still pressing down into the roof. “Peacekeeping was down here ‘asking questions’ a few days ago; I guess it was about the Angel.” If there was even a hint of crime against the Crown or the Court, Peacekeeping would turn up disturbingly fast. “Somebody probably hired Cloud because Peacekeeping couldn’t find anything.” He couldn’t have known, Tifa knew. They’d still been away. “If Cloud finds her and turns her in... lots of folks here won't be happy. Just... please stop asking me questions.”

“But Cloud wouldn’t--” Zack stopped himself. He let out a huff. “All right, no more questions.”

When they tired of the view, they went back down again and circled back towards Seventh Heaven. They got a table, ordered some drinks and a few snacks, and started to talk again: rehashing the time they’d spent together in Nibelheim, explaining what they’d been doing in the months afterwards. Anything except the Angel.

Tifa’s jaw was aching when they finally returned to the platform, just in time for the last train out. She stayed on the platform until the train had gone from sight. “He’d know something was wrong,” Tifa said to herself. “He’d _know_.”

She walked back to her apartment and went straight to bed; a good long rest cured anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (June 26, 2020)  
>  **Chofitia:**  
>  XD XD XD  
> The assignments for the FFVII exchange are out, right? And guess who I got?
> 
>  **art ninja:**  
>  do tell!
> 
>  **Chofitia:**  
>  [screenshot of assignment, showing Jukeboxhound's prompts]
> 
>  **art ninja:**  
>  Ha
> 
>  **Chofitia:**  
>  Well, they did [an AerTi fic I requested](https://archiveofourown.org/works/175578) on anon [for the Yuri Challenge], so I have to pay it back.
> 
>  **Chofitia:**  
>  Wait. Wait wait wait. Do I dare bring back Mercverse for prompt 4 [asking for an urban fantasy AU]?
> 
>  **art ninja:**  
>  Do it. Confuse the fuck out of these new fangled fans. XD
> 
>  **Chofitia:**  
>  I could probably work some of the rest into this... I hope. Let's see.
> 
>  **Chofitia:**  
>  Hrm... maybe The Angel of the Slums plotline, but for Mercverse?


	2. In Which There Is an Homme Fatal

The lobby of the Corneo Coliseum was a nightmare of red and gold. Sephiroth was quite sure that he’d have the after-images for hours after leaving, which he couldn’t do until the end of the evening.

He had had no other alternatives: the locator wards that he made sure to place on all of his valuables were being infuriatingly difficult to track. The weak tugging—which should have been a more rhythmic pull—had brought Sephiroth away from the city center and towards the more lurid parts of Midgar.

The call of his wards—such as they were—had wound their way around Wall Market and faded to near nothing at the doors of the Coliseum. The place’s defenses, obviously. Immense banners proclaimed an open tournament with “rare artifacts” as prizes. Artifacts no doubt “uncovered” during the recent spate of burglaries around the better parts of the city. He had taken a moment to abandon his dignity, then entered the Coliseum and registered using a fictitious yet plausible name.

He had the fleeting thought of calling his father to discuss his whereabouts and activities for the evening, as a dutiful son would.

Sephiroth aimlessly made his way around knots of conversation, or had his way made for him if someone happened to notice his eyes. No one here was a fellow competitor; they couldn’t be. He wouldn’t be _that_ fortunate.

Seated alone, back to the wall, a little blond lordling was visibly scanning the room. Was _he_ competition? Sephiroth walked towards him, slowly drawing a palling around himself. The noise died down, the world around him became indistinct.

Sephiroth stopped at a respectable distance away before addressing the blond; there was still room for some of the proprieties. “Is this seat taken?” He draped the palling around the two of them.

The blond turned to him and reared back. Blue. A beat to assess him, then: “No, go ahead.”

Blue eyes with a glow that wasn’t like the light of Sephiroth’s own, the light a mage would have; the blond’s, instead, had its own stamp of strangeness. Cloud Strife. The Strifes were practically recluses, when they weren’t going off to some isolated place or another. Why, then, come here? Though one could ask the same question of Sephiroth himself.

Sephiroth sat to Strife’s left. “It could be dangerous, being alone.” Slowly, delicately, he tried to sense something out.

A light snort. “I’ll live.” Another little glance of assessment. It was almost like a conversation with his father. “Who are _you_ here with?”

“I came alone.” Telepathy was supposed to be one of Sephiroth’s _stronger_ talents, but his probes simply withered and died.

Strife smiled, thin and sharp and perfect on his delicate face. “It could be dangerous, being alone.”

Sephiroth leaned closer, waiting for a response. “I’m part of the evening’s entertainment; I can take care of myself.”

Strife’s smile stayed as he made another, lingering assessment. “I don’t think your father would be too happy to hear that.”

Sephiroth made his own assessing glance, exaggerated it to near absurdity. A pale throat waiting for a bite or ten. Some couturier’s idea of how a fighter should dress that showcased a small waist and the promise of toned muscle beneath. He smiled. “The idea of making my father apoplectic is its own reward.”

Strife hummed. “Is that your only reason to enter the tournament?”

What other sorts of noises could Sephiroth be able to wring from Strife, given the opportunity? “There _are_ the prizes.”

Another thin smile. “The ‘artifacts’? It’s a pity I’ll be in the audience tonight, if _you’re_ interested in them.” Sephiroth warred between disappointment that he wouldn’t see Strife fighting and determination that Strife would appreciate what he, Sephiroth, could do.

Sephiroth let out the truth, most of it: “One of those ‘artifacts’ has my wards on it; it’s irreplaceable.”

“Why not just demand it back?” Sephiroth had to wonder where Strife got the idea that he, Sephiroth, would be ready to act the spoiled young master.

“I don’t think the management of this place is cowed very easily. Besides, the barriers here are so tightly woven it’s a wonder I can breathe.”

Strife let out a slight laugh. “Then it must be a miracle that you’ve gotten your own palling up.” He offered a hand. “Evan Townsend.” The king’s _thirteen year old bastard_? Strife _had_ to know Sephiroth would recognize the name.

“Sephiroth Crescent.” He took “Evan’s” hand and waited for a reaction. Nothing. Sephiroth briefly contemplated pressing his lips to “Evan’s” wrist.

Instead, he stared right into those strange, lovely blue eyes. “The games should be starting soon. I do hope you’ll support me, _Cloud_.” Strife’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly, then his expression returned to his previous look of amusement.

Sephiroth lifted the palling. The world snapped back into clarity. A call began for the evening’s fighters to present themselves. Strife’s hand was still in his. He kissed it in farewell, where a signet ring should have been.

He won, of course. None of the “rare artifacts” proved to be his, though they were valuable and definitely stolen. The rest of the night with Cloud proved to be a more than adequate consolation prize.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, that _was_ a reference to _Dune_.
> 
> Also, this chapter necessitated my going back to reread fic from 2001/2002 (Thanks, Wayback Machine!) because that fic was the only one I knew where Sephiroth and Cloud were playing this "I know you know I know" game and flirting shamelessly with each other.


	3. In Which Communication Is Key

Zack nearly fell over when he saw Cloud in the kitchen, calmly having his morning cup of tea. Zack had taken the last train the night before to get back and knew for a _fact_ Cloud hadn’t been home then. “When did you get in?”

“This morning.”

Zack gasped and held a hand to his heart. “Cloud _Strife_. I am _shocked_ and _appalled_.” He adjusted his voice a bit, all the better to sound like Lecturing Dad Mode Cloud: “You’re _more_ than old enough to know better.”

Cloud gripped his cup and was fighting not to smile; Zack had seen that look on Cloud’s face enough times to know.

Zack took a seat across the table from Cloud. “You’re setting a _real_ bad example for your innocent ward, you know.”

Cloud took a sip of his tea. “ _Adults_ are capable of making their own decisions and accepting the consequences.” He set down his cup. “So, what have you learned?”

Zack sighed. “Nothing about the Angel.” He slumped down in his seat, wanting to disappear. “This… isn’t as easy as I thought it would be.” He gave Cloud a quick run-down of what had happened between him and Tifa. “Lower Seven isn’t going to be very friendly until this is all over.”

“And if the Angel goes into custody, things’ll just get worse.” Cloud set his cup to the side. “Do you need me to mediate between you and Tifa?”

Zack shook his head. “We’ll be okay, I think. I just need to give her some space.”

Cloud looked at him evenly. “Any ideas on how to improve the situation?”

The need to get away was starting to be too much. “By _n_ _ot_ doing what our client wants us to do? Which means ruining your reputation?” Zack changed the subject away from his incompetence. “What happened at Wall Market?”

“What _doesn’t_ happen at Wall Market?” Cloud picked his cup back up again and took a sip. “The Coliseum had a series of tournaments with ‘rare artifacts’ as prizes. I wanted to see if any fit the description of the items the Angel stole. They didn’t.”

Zack leaned forward across the table, getting as close to Cloud as he dared. “So, _what_ _else_ happened at Wall Market?”

Was Cloud _blushing_? Was Cloud even _allowed_ to do that? “Nothing of your concern.”

Zack backed away from Cloud and crossed his arms. “It’s going to be like that, huh?”

Cloud set down his cup and copied Zack’s gesture. “I’m abusing my privileges as your employer and your lord.”

Zack rolled his eyes. “Tell me something I _don’t_ know.”

Cloud ignored the bait. “What I’ll be doing next, for one.” And here came something Zack had heard about a thousand times in three, two... “Regular communication--”

Zack joined in for the rest. “--is necessary to increase the chances of a mission’s success.” Except when it was about topics like whoever-it-was that Cloud had spent the night with. “Okay, I’ll start: since Lower Seven is out, and you’ve already been to Wall Market, I’ll look around Lower Five. You?”

“Recovering stolen property.”

Zack grinned and leaned forward again. “For the special someone you met in Wall Market?”

Cloud frowned. “If you _must_ know, yes.”

Zack’s grin grew wider. “And what are they like? When can I expect to meet them?”

Cloud’s phone buzzed. He and Zack both trained their eyes towards the sound.

Cloud took out his phone and swiped through whatever notifications he’d gotten, face perfectly blank. He could be reading a report on the annual output of Nibelheim’s mines or hate mail from his worst enemy and his face would still look the same. He blinked twice, then put away his phone. “Looks like he figured out where to go.”

He got up, stretched, and moved over to Zack’s side of the table to pat him on the head. Because Zack apparently really needed to feel like he was a ten year old again. “Good hunting,” Cloud said. “And behave yourself.” He headed off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meet the only chapter that survived my switch in POVs.
> 
> Originally, this fic was going to alternate between Cloud chapters and Zack chapters, but it wasn't working. I started rewriting scenes from other POVs, and things turned out better for it.


	4. In Which a Red Herring Is Caught

Kyrie paced back and forth, moving up and down the only aisle in Takeru’s small shop. How long had it been? Five minutes? Five _hours_? How much time did someone need to check over something as small as a necklace? Here she was, risking her life to redistribute wealth to the needy and deserving, and _now_ \--

“Okay, done.”

Kyrie rushed to the counter at the back of the shop. She planted her hands on the counter top and smiled up and into Takeru’s still-glowing eyes. “So? Did I get them all?”

“You missed one,” he announced, wrapping the necklace back up in the handkerchief she’d brought it in. “Not bad for your first actual dispelling.”

Kyrie bit her lip. She wasn’t pleased, but only one ward left was, like Takeru had said, not bad. “But you can help me get rid of that last one, right?”

Takeru backed away from the counter top, sitting upright on the stool he kept back there. “No.”

She slammed her hands on the counter. “But you and your mom help Grandma all the _time_!” She slapped her hands down over and over as she said “time”.

Takeru crossed his arms and looked right at her. The glow in his eyes had just about faded away. “That’s different.”

“How?”

“Because whoever put that ward on this necklace knew what they were doing.” He looked down at the wrapped up bundle like it was going to blow up. “I’m not even _breathing_ on it the wrong way.”

Kyrie began looking at the necklace like it was going to blow up, too. “Is it that hard to dispel?”

“Actually, dispelling it is the easy part,” he said, strangely cheerful. “Whoever placed the ward has to die.”

Kyrie forgot about the possibility of the necklace blowing up and slammed her hands down on the counter again. “ _What?!_ ”

Takeru sighed. “Think of the ward as being attached to someone’s soul. The dispelling you’ve already done and charms on this cloth are weakening the connection, but it’s still there.”

Kyrie imagined a fine red thread, attached at one end to the necklace, extending out over Midgar to the apartment she’d picked out to search and into the heart of whoever lived there. The necklace was tugging on the thread, trying to get the attention of whoever was at the other end of it. “So, what do I do?”

Takeru looked at her like he wondered how she’d learned how to breathe. “ _Get rid of it._ ”

Kyrie picked up the necklace, making sure that it was secured tightly in the handkerchief. Would it help if the handkerchief was wrapped around it tighter? “You know anybody around here I could sell it to?” She tried to use her best little-girl voice. There had to be buyers. It was _mythril_.

Takeru snorted. “No one’s buying that, not once they find that ward on it.”

Kyrie made a face. “Thanks for nothing.” She stuffed the bundled necklace into her pocket and headed for the door.

The door currently being blocked by the tallest, scariest mage she’d ever seen in her entire life. “I believe you have something of mine.” His voice was calm, which made it even scarier. “Return it, and you’ll have clemency.”

She’d stolen something from mage. A very, very scary mage. She’d thought the security around that apartment just meant that there’d be good stuff to look around for, not that she’d be stealing from a mage! (Part of her was still a little proud for having beaten his defenses.)

Kyrie turned around to scream at Takeru to help her. He’d disappeared, the absolute _jerk_. She turned back to the tall, scary mage, who now had a spiky-haired blond with him. “What you have in your pocket belongs to him,” the blond said, pointing his chin at the scary mage.

She did what she always did when adults managed to catch her: she cried. She sniffed. She hiccoughed. She risked a peek at the mage and the… whatever-he-was.

They weren’t buying it.

There was a flash of light and then the blade of a sword was under her chin. It was being held by the scary mage, because of course he didn’t just know magic, he had to have a weapon, too! It wasn’t touching her, but it still felt _cold_ and it was _real_ and this guy wanted _to kill her_. Her knees gave way and she slumped down to the floor. She should’ve run somewhere, or tried to hide the way that Grandma was teaching her...

Her eyes were burning. Her nose was running. Her throat was closing up. The sword was still right under her chin.

Kyrie reached into her pocket and then held out the wrapped up necklace. Her hand was shaking. The blond took the bundle from her and unwrapped it. He picked up the necklace and showed it to the scary mage. “Is this it?”

A flash of… something went across the scary mage’s face, but it left and he went back to being scary. “It is.”

She wiped her eyes and sniffed. “I had interested buyers, you know.” Kyrie thought of a nice number, and then tripled it. “I was getting offers for--”

The sword just barely touched her skin.

“But you’ll… you’ll ignore all of that because I helped get back your lost property, right?” Grandma had warned her about pissing off mages; their grudges could last a very long time.

The sword vanished. The mage looked at the necklace, still in the blond’s hand, and made it go away in the same way he had the sword. The blond wadded up her handkerchief and put it back into her hand.

The mage and the blond walked off, and Kyrie caught the beginnings of another conversation.

First, the blond. “Didn’t expect it to be a necklace that had gone missing.”

Then, the scary mage. “I told you it was irreplaceable. It had been my…” the voices had moved beyond her hearing.

The world was spinning and her hands were still shaking. She had to leave. She couldn’t come back here, not for a while. Because mages could hold grudges for a very long time. Once things stopped spinning and her hands stopped shaking, she got up and left the shop behind.

She needed to talk to her Grandma. _She’d_ be able to fix this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because what is an exchange fic if I don't throw in some of my OCs in it somewhere?
> 
> My notes for Kyrie pretty much tell me to just write Yuffie, but a little younger. (Timeline-wise, Kyrie should be thirteen in this fic; some of you probably figured that out when I mentioned Evan's age in chapter two.)


	5. In Which There Is a Meet-Cute

Aerith felt the stranger in her church before seeing him. Nothing that made her nerves scream over an immediate danger—lucky for her, since she hadn't brought her staff—but there _was_ a stranger. He’d better not be messing around with her flowers, or he’d be sorry.

Aerith found the door left open—rude!--and she went in. A figure in a black shirt and dark jeans was squatted down _right in front of her flowers_. She really should’ve put up a barrier along with her alarms. She took a breath, gave her mother’s crystal a pat, and marched into battle to protect her babies—never mind that her only weapons were a wicker basket and a silver knife. “Hands off!” The figure got up and whipped out a dagger. She had to admire the reflexes.

She had to admire the whole package.

Tall, dark, and handsome sheathed the dagger—that’s a relief—and waited for her to get to the other end of the nave. Aerith stopped right in front of him, getting a very nice view of a well-defined chest in a tight shirt. She quickly did a my-eyes-are-up-here and focused on his very, very blue eyes. “Could you move aside, please? I’ve got to get to work.” She made sure to use her best customer-service voice.

He let out a little hum of assent and stepped to the side. Aerith knelt down and got down to the work of weeding and gathering the right ingredients for tea. Hot stranger or no hot stranger, the phases of the moon for harvesting didn’t wait for anyone. She hummed one of the songs her mother had taught her, one to ask for help.

“Uh, it _is_ okay for me to stay here, isn’t it?”

Murmurs that she couldn’t make out clearly, but no waves of alarm or fear.

Aerith stopped her work and looked back at the stranger. He’d taken a seat in one of the pews and was looking around the church like someone who didn’t go to them often. “You can stay, just be careful around my plants.” She had to take a good, long look—not that it was a hardship or anything—in order to pick anything up. Fuzzy, but a few things managed to leak out. Either Zack Strife was a natural at pallings or knew someone who was. Well, if They thought he was safe, then he was probably safe.

He smiled—Gaia, give her strength. “Thanks.”

Aerith went back to weeding, crushed a few petals just so, and hummed another song. Safe. Zack Strife was safe. But she would still have her back to him and she only did have her basket and her knife. It took a few minutes of song before she started hearing him snore softly--even that was cute!--and she could really be at peace.

 _Dreaming_ , They spoke up. _Will you see?_

He was safe. Aerith didn’t need to peek into the dreams of someone who was safe. She spent the rest of Zack Strife’s nap time tightening up the wards around the church. If it took a little longer than it should have because she had something nice to distract her, that was her business.

Zack woke up the third time she decided to check on him, because sometimes life had a sense of humor like that. “All done,” Aerith announced. “Nothing else for me to do here.”

Zack yawned—maybe she’d overdone it, just a little. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,”Aerith repeated. She went back to tie some of her gathered herbs into bundles and collect her things. She did the work slowly and waited for Zack to take the opportunity.

And waited.

Honestly, did she have to do _all_ of the work herself? She walked back to Zack’s pew with her basket on her arm. “You know, a gentleman would offer to escort me home.” She made damn sure not to stress the word “gentleman”; he’d shut up right away, and _then_ where would they be?

“Uh, I didn’t want to be a creep? We don’t even know each other’s names. It’s been… a while and we haven’t introduced ourselves.” He got up and extended his hand. “I’m Zack.”

It took everything she had not to flip his hand palm-side-up and do a reading then and there. Aerith shook his hand like a Very Normal Person; he had calluses—swordplay, some hand-to-hand—and a feeling of warmth and strength. “I’m Aerith. _Now_ can you offer me an escort?”

Zack straightened up, then made a small bow. “Miss, might I have the honor of seeing you safely home?” He extended his arm, elbow bent. There had been several years of mandatory classes in etiquette, apparently.

Aerith placed her hand on his arm and concentrated on not feeling him up. “ _Much_ better.”

* * *

Aerith began her interrogation right after they’d left the church’s front steps. “So… what brings you to this part of Midgar?”

Zack stared ahead of them, collecting his thoughts. The palling around him thinned a bit; the physical contact, she knew. “Family business stuff.” The swords and the hand-to-hand. History, languages, and convoluted trees. Seeking out things in the dark.

“What does your family do?”

“A little bit of everything.” The echo of another voice, familiar and unknown, younger and older at once.

“Everything, huh?” She kicked a pebble down the road. “Why did you stop at the church?”

Zack shrugged. “I decided to follow the road to see where it went. It stopped at the church, and I wanted to take a look inside.” A boy more interested in the play of shadows and light made by candlelight than the ceremony happening below.

“There’s really not much here except the church, the scrapyards, and rats and hedgehog pies.” The last were making themselves quite scarce. Aerith was glad of it; casting too many spells sapped her energy.

They strolled through the train station and down Fifth Avenue into the business district of Lower Five. Malin and Dana, two children from the Leaf House, were running to meet her and Zack.

“Hi, Aerith.”

She waved. “Hello.”

They looked up at Zack, sizing him up. “Who’s that?” Dana asked.

“This is Zack.” Aerith grinned. “He’s my bodyguard today.”

Zack made some sort of noise in his throat. Was he _blushing_? How _cute_! He cleared his throat, then held out his hand to Dana. (Aerith had to let go of Zack’s arm before she was yanked forward.) “Nice to meet you.” They shook, and he did the same for Malin. “How’s the patrol going?”

Dana and Malin looked at each other, then at Zack. “It’s okay,” Malin said. “Just sending a bunch of messages back and forth, nothing special.”

Zack smiled at them like he was their pleased older brother. How could his smiles be so lethal when they weren't even aimed at her? “But I bet everyone you’re helping is happy they know two trustworthy messengers.”

Dana and Malin beamed. “Yeah! We don’t read them or share them with the other kids or anything,” Dana said.

“And we get them to where they need to go _real_ fast,” Malin added.

“It just so happens,” Aerith said, “that I need two fast, trustworthy messengers.” She poked around her basket. She got two of her bundles of herbs and gave one each to Malin and Dana. “Could you give these to the doctor?” She fished out some ten-gil coins from her pocket. “And this is for your service.”

They ran off. Aerith noticed other pairs of children going up and down Fifth Avenue, looking for errands to run. Everyone in Lower Five would know about Zack in less than two hours.

Or maybe even faster, since Mireille was coming down the road to meet them. Mireille lifted her hand in greeting first. “Good to see you, Aerith.”

Aerith stepped forward in order to make introductions. “Zack, this is Mireille. Mireille, this is Zack.”

Mireille looked Zack up and down. She cocked her head. “And what’s the young gentleman doing out here with you, Aerith?”

“Just looking around,” Zack said. Now that she wasn’t touching Zack—pity--it was hard to read him again. All Aerith was able to get was something about walls.

Mireille hummed. “Looking around for something, or looking around for someone?”

Zack let off pulses of confusion and the need to be unseen. “Both? It’s… complicated.”

Mireille nodded. “Most things in life are.” She narrowed her eyes at Zack and nodded again. “And whenever it is that you’ve found out just what it is or who it is that you’re looking for, let me know.”

More of wanting to be unseen. “Um, thanks.”

“I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got to get going. It’s a bit of a trek to Lower Seven.” Normally, it was hard to read anything from Mireille—much harder than Zack—but her buzz of excitement was so strong Aerith was sure Zack could feel it.

“Say hi to Marle for me,” Aerith said.

Mireille saluted. “Will do.”

“Marle?” Zack said. “Marle who owns Stargazer Heights?”

Mireille cocked her head at Zack again. “And how do you know Marle?”

“I was visiting a friend in Lower Seven yesterday. Marle’s her landlady.”

“Ah, so _you’re_ young Tifa’s friend!” Mireille wagged her finger at Zack. “With whatever it is that’s got her spooked, she could use a friend right now.” Mireille walked off toward the train station.

It seemed that Aerith had quite a few things to talk about later with both Mireille and Zack. Aerith turned to face Zack. “Ready to go?”

Zack was tamping down on hot and cold surges of stress. Once he got things under control, Zack extended his arm to her again, just as properly as before. “Lead on.”

Aerith slipped back onto his arm like she’d been doing it all of her life.

Maybe she could get him to look at her busted cart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meet the chapter that sold me on the idea of various POVs, rather than just having Cloud and Zack.
> 
> How many times did I listen to "Hollow Skies" while writing this chapter? Too many.
> 
> Speaking of Remake, my Aerith-voice has seriously taken on a _lot_ of Remake!Aerith.
> 
> This version of Aerith owes a lot to Jukeboxhound's [Black Magic Woman](https://archiveofourown.org/series/47976) series, in particular some of her abilities. Parts of Aerith and Zack's interactions were inspired by ["Too Daze Gone"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/844321). I'm _pretty sure_ the idea of Aerith humming/singing for part of her magic came from My Dearest Ophelia/Mirrored Sakura ([their Mercverse tag on Livejournal](https://dearestophelia.livejournal.com/tag/mercverse)).


	6. In Which There Are Angels and Demons

The old man’s place hadn’t changed a bit, Mireille found. And that included his security. The old man still trusted her, and that deserved some sort of respect. She picked her way through the rooms, took a seat, and waited.

At long last, the door to the place opened, and the old man himself stepped inside with Aerith’s gentleman friend right behind him. The old man took one look at her and sighed—that hadn’t changed either. “Hello, Mireille.”

“Oh, hello, Cloud.” Mireille turned to Aerith’s young man. “And hello, Zack.”

The old man crossed his arms. “What are you doing here, Mireille?”

“My granddaughter said she was scared half to death the other day by a mage dressed all in black who was with a spiky-haired blond.” She gave the old man a hairy eyeball. “You wouldn’t happen to know anyone who fits the description, would you?”

The old man gave her his own hairy eyeball. “She'd stolen something that had belonged to the mage’s mother. He was… upset.”

Mireille sighed. Kyrie _would_ be selective with the truth. “Figures. The girl does have more daring than sense.” She turned to Aerith’s young man again. “And did you ever figure out who or what you were looking for?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “At the rate we’re going, I don’t know if we’re ever going to find them.”

His need to fade away came off him like a beacon; he needed to watch that. He looked like he was considering something, and then: “We’re looking for the Angel of the Slums.”

“Ah! You’re hardly the first young man to have fallen under the Angel’s spell.” She chuckled for a bit. “And what will you do when you find her?”

He stayed quiet for a moment more, then: “Give her a warning.” The old man was pleased at this; she knew what that look on his face meant.

Mireille leaned forward in her seat. “And what sort of warning would that be?”

He was giving off the same need to run that she and Kyrie tended to have in uncertain situations; he _really_ needed to watch that. “That a lot of people are looking for her, and if she wants to keep on giving to the poor, she needs to be careful.”

“Well!” Mireille clapped her hands. “I thank you for the warning. I’ll be sure to be more careful.”

His shoulders slumped, but he was holding up considerably well otherwise. “ _You’re_ the Angel of the Slums.”

“I should’ve known,” the old man muttered. He gave her another hairy eyeball. “I thought you said you’d given all of that up.”

“I _had_ given it up.” And that was perfectly true. “But things are getting worse by the day and those above don’t want to make it better.” Mireille shrugged. “So I organize offerings on their behalf.”

“If you have time in the middle of your ‘charity work’,” He looked at Aerith’s young man. “I think you should take on a student.”

Mireille gave Aerith’s young man another once-over. She nodded, produced one of her daggers, and threw it at the old man's head.

Aerith's young man responded admirably: he caught the dagger in mid-air and threw it back at her. He followed the weapon's flight and a heartbeat later was holding his own dagger to her throat. "What the _fuck_ was _that_?"

Mireille looked at the old man, who was of course relaxed about the whole thing. “He’s already got a knack for it.” Much too wild at the moment, but with some training up...

Aerith’s young man frowned. "That was a _test_?" He looked back at the old man, dagger still at Mireille's throat. "Did you know about this?"

"Had no idea," the old man said. "But if Mireille's decided to come out of retirement, I think we should take advantage of it."

Mireille raised a finger to the blade at her throat and leisurely wagged it from side to side, passing through the blade each time. Aerith's young man followed every movement. "I take it," Mireille said, putting her hand down, "that the old man's told you about what's in our blood?"

Aerith's young man loosened his grip a touch, but the dagger was still in place. Very focused, this one. “You’ve got demon blood, too?”

Mireille nodded, uncaring about a blade that wouldn't be able to cut her. “Enough that it helps with collecting my offerings but doesn’t show. We’ve got the same affinities, just about; for all I know, we could be kin.” She looked at him evenly. “Things _are_ getting worse and being able to move about in different ways comes in useful.”

He looked away for a moment, put away his dagger, and backed away. “All right. Fine.”

Mireille folded her hands and placed them on her lap. “Now, I _do_ expect payment for my expertise. You can’t coast by on your titles and your good looks forever, you know.”

He narrowed his eyes, looking very much like the old man. “How much?”

“You know, not everything can be solved with a fat bank account.” Mireille smiled. “Most things, but not all. No, no, I’ll need something more valuable.”

He let out a frustrated little growl. “Telling our client that despite doing all we could, we couldn’t find the Angel or get back what was stolen.”

The old man shook his head like he’d just heard about someone’s pet dying. “Those things happen. Pity.”

Mireille nodded. “A decent down payment, but you'll need more.” She got up from her seat and stretched. “It’s been nice to see you both again, but I’ll have to get going. Give my love to Aerith and Tifa.” She left the way she came, melting into the dark. She could afford to be dramatic, give her soon-to-be-pupil a taste of things to come.

He’d figure out the currency she needed and how to get it to her. She believed in him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I just find it really funny to have Mireille refer to someone who looks like he's a third of her age as "the old man", because, well, immortal. (In my head canon, she's called Cloud "the old man" for as long as she's known that he was an immortal.)
> 
> The bit with the thrown knife was something that literally came to my mind with about five hours to go before the deadline, and it ties things together nicely with other bits of the story. (I caught things on a reread for my author's notes).

**Author's Note:**

> So, Jukeboxhound. Um... surprise?
> 
> I'm _so sorry_ that I've been evasive about my assignment, especially after you offered to toss around ideas for my prompts (╥﹏╥) and beta my writing (╥﹏╥ ╥﹏╥ ╥﹏╥). I didn't want you to do work for the gift I was preparing for you. I hope you liked this.
> 
> My thanks and appreciation to **art ninjas/ninjatwins** for beta duties, and for listening to me agonize over this story for more than a month. It's the first time I've had anyone beta my work from beginning to end, and I really appreciate it.
> 
> My thanks also to **Edenfalling** , for allowing me to use her bits of Mercverse canon in my own story. (Read her [Mercverse stories](https://archiveofourown.org/series/56289)! Appreciate her lore!) The _entire thing_ between Mireille and Zack was because of _one line_ in chapter three of "Two Guys and a Girl".


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